Calligrophilia
by Alchemist Experiment
Summary: Al was a tactile creature, prone to spending hours laying in the grass or stroking a cat or soaking in a bath.... End of series spoilers.


-1_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I am making no money off of this._

_Warnings: This fic could be seen as incest, though it is not necessarily intended that way. You have been warned._

**Calligrophila**

Al had taken to sleeping in as little clothes as possible. Ed knew it was so he could feel the slick softness of his sheets against his skin. Al was a tactile creature, prone to spending hours laying in the grass or brushing his own hair or soaking in a bath. Ed had a hell of a time keeping him away from cats these days. But it was alright, really, and Ed could only smile as he glanced up to see his brother shifting in bed. Al's arms were stretched out with his fingers curled and his head tilted back ever-so-slightly. How could Ed _not_ smile, really, when he looked at his brother and saw warm skin and muscle instead of cold, hard metal?

It had been months now since Al had returned to his proper body, and Ed didn't think that the newness of it would fade anytime soon. He didn't _want_ it to, because every time Al grinned when he touched something or took a deep breath or just looked down at himself, Ed imagined he felt a shadow of what his brother felt. Joy. Pure, unadulterated joy that burned in his veins and made him dizzy.

Ed turned his attention back to his notes, a smile still on his lips. The candles were burning low and he knew it was getting time to turn in, but he found himself with little desire to sleep. It was nice, sitting here working while Al dozed just a few feet away. He couldn't help but sneak quick glances at his brother, still not over the fact that it was _Al_. The long line of pale skin was _Al_'s. The long brown hair - long, Ed was sure, because Al liked to feel it against his neck and shoulders - was _Al_'s. Tired as he was, that giddy rise of butterflies once more took flight in Ed's stomach.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath a second later. He set aside his pen and searched about his desk, frowning.

"Mmm?" Al mumbled, sleepily. "Wha's wrong?"

"Eh? Oh, nothing. Just out of paper, go back to sleep. Sorry I woke you up." Ed rose and crossed the room to his own bed - he couldn't sleep alone, certainly not when he could wake up and hear Al's breathing from the other bed - and pawed through his chest of supplies. He could hear Al moving and shifting, slowly as Al was wont to do. No paper here, either. Well, that was the end of tonight's work, anyway.

Ed turned and stretched, his shoulders popping from being hunched over his desk for so long. Al was propped up in bed now, one finger dipping into Ed's inkwell.

"It's warm," Al said, quietly and almost reverently.

"It's next to the candle," Ed responded with a chuckle. He watched as Al watched the ink on his finger, thick and blue-black and shimmering in the candlelight. Ed made a mental note to pick up some more ink tomorrow, too. Al turned his finger this way and that, not bothering to wipe at the thin trickle that slid down towards his knuckle.

"You're gonna get your sheets all dirty," Ed warned, and Al just grinned sheepishly. The ink stained finger was finally withdrawn, and Ed watched in idle fascination as Al made small patterns on his arm with the ink.

"Now you're really going to get your sheets dirty," Ed said, but he watched Al trace alchemical symbols over the skin of his forearm. Al did things like this, just to feel them. The dark of the ink stood out in stark contrast to Al's pale skin, the candlelight picking up the iridescent colours within.

"Here." Ed searched in the drawer of his desk, an idea forming half-way in his mind. He found an old, soft tipped paint brush that had never been used. He didn't even know why he had the thing, other than the fact that he never threw anything out. Al was still making designs on his arm with the ink left on his finger, the new ones faded and weak.

"I'm sorry," Al said, nibbling worriedly at his lower lip. "I didn't ruin your ink, did I?"

"Nah. I need to get more anyway. Here, lie down." Ed took the ink pot in hand and settled himself on the edge of Al's bed, watching the flickering shadows play over his brother's skin.

"What are you doing?" Al asked, still muzzy and sleepy.

"Finishing up my work. Hold still." Ed dipped the paint brush in the ink and pressed the tip of the brush to the point between Al's shoulder blades, drawing a circle on his brother's skin. Who needed paper? Al's back was flat and smooth, and Ed painted another line within the circle, drawing the brush slowly over unmarred skin. He could feel Al shifting and flexing under him, and the small sighs of contentment that followed made him smile.

"That tickles," Al said, his shoulder blades twitching under the ink-tipped bristles of the brush. Ed paused, already entranced by the designs marking his brother's back. He didn't want to stop, was enjoying this new sharing of alchemy and closeness and touch.

"Want me to stop?"

"No."

Ed dipped the brush once more in ink, the candlelight flickering low now. More lines flowed from the tip of the brush onto Al's skin, patterns and circles and sigils pulled from memory and placed how Ed wished to see them. It was strange, working with a living canvas like this. Alchemical symbols and notations laced across Al's back, shadowed now and as close to holy as anything would ever be for Ed. A strong line down the contour of Al's spine, a bismuth on the hollow of Al's waist, an antimony at the curve of Al's shoulder. Ed had forgotten about mapping out any ideas now, was simply painting the old symbols he knew so well on his brother's body, turning them into something more. There was no rhyme or reason to the shapes that slid from the brush to Al's flesh, the tracery now spanning from shoulder to hips, sinuous curls and lines covering bare flesh.

"I think I'm out of skin," Al said, craning his neck to look over his shoulder. His loosely bound hair fell over one shoulder, smudging the ink just slightly.

"That's okay," Ed said. "I'm out of ink." Al's eyes were dark and glittering in the low light, and Ed reached out to ruffle his brother's tawny hair. Even in the darkness of their bedroom, late in the night, the vibrant life that flowed through Al was striking. Ed slipped off of the bed and retrieved a towel, shaking his head at his limp brother. For someone so full of life, Al sure did laze around a lot.

"Come on. The ink'll set if I don't wipe it off."

"S'alright," Al mumbled, yawning and turning onto his side. "It feels nice. It'll wash off in the morning. G'night. And, um, thanks. That was nice." Ed just shrugged. He didn't acknowledge the embarrassment in his brother's voice nor could he argue with Al, not really. Not when Al turned to him with large brown eyes full of life and hope and every other emotion in the world. There was no force in the world stronger than that, Ed would gladly wager. And how could he, knowing what metal took away from life, ever begrudge Al his fascination with touch? Ed set aside the towel and doused the candles, plunging the room into darkness, and stumbled to his own bed before his eyes adjusted.

His own fingers, he realized, were stained with ink. He grinned into his pillow, touching his fingertips lightly to his cheek. It was only ink, nothing special to him. But still… he traced a circular pattern on his own forearm before drifting off to sleep, listening to the still-new sound of Al's breathing on the other side of the room.


End file.
